


shed the days like skin, pray for evenings in

by Edgebug



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, oswald casually threatening to have someone killed, unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim comes home, gets in bed with his boyfriend, and they quietly unpack the day. No, really. That's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shed the days like skin, pray for evenings in

**Author's Note:**

> A request from Supernatural-The-Following-Fan on tumblr. They wanted something like this (Jim and Oswald in bed talking) but I don't remember the specifics of the prompt because I replied to it in a hasty excited rush and it left my askbox. Tumblr's messaging system blows.

Oswald's curled up in bed with a novel when he hears the front door unlock. "Jim?" he calls, perking up instantly.

He hears a loud groan in reply and Jim shuffles into their bedroom. "Oh, dear," Oswald sighs, "you look terrible."

"Thanks," Jim grumbles, but there's a tiny quirk to the corners of his lips. He disappears into the bathroom and Oswald can hear the shower turn on. Oswald returns to his novel and prepares a gentle barrage of questions about Jim's day. Why does he look so terrible? Was that blood on his collar? Does Oswald need to have someone killed?

Jim's out of the shower in under ten minutes (Oswald doesn't know how anyone showers in less than twenty) and he quits the bathroom, plodding over to the bed. Oswald pulls the sheets and covers back and pats the mattress invitingly, and Jim dives into the bed faster than you can say 'exhaustion.'

"Bad day?" Oswald asks.

" _Long_ day, that's all," he mumbles halfway into his pillow. "Are you wearing glasses?"

"Reading glasses," Oswald says, taking them off and folding them up before placing them on the side table. "Have you even eaten dinner?"

"I like you in glasses," Jim says fondly, then "uh, yeah. Harvey brought me a sandwich. Said I'd die if I didn't eat anything." Jim pauses and gives a small laugh. "Then he said that if he let me die he'd have to answer to you, so I'd--" He does a comical, rather squeaky impression of Harvey, "' _better eat_ ' because he ' _likes having lungs and I ain't gonna die just because you're shacked up with a damn gangster_.'"

"He isn't a stupid man," Oswald says on a chuckle, almost approvingly. He must remember to mail Harvey a thank-you note. "Why were you in so late?"

"You're not gonna believe this." Jim rolls onto his back, runs his hands over his face. "Looking through old newspapers for a goldfish's obituary. Don't laugh, I'm serious. 'Mr. Bubbles' was apparently code for something worth killing over, and we had to find where it was buried so we could try to get clues as to, you know, whoever dug it up previously, or whatever. Because that's reasonable and normal."

Oswald giggles anyhow. "So you exhumed a beloved family pet?"

"We exhumed a lot of _drugs_ , there was no beloved family pet involved, thank god. Mr. Bubbles' supposed final resting place was apparently a hot spot for drug drops."

Oswald laughs louder. "Oh, for god's sake."

"I think Ed was disappointed that there wasn't actually a goldfish corpse to perform an autopsy on," Jim continues, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"Poor Ed," Oswald agrees and slides his hand into Jim's, loosely lacing their fingers. "So you were stuck playing pet detective, hm?"

Jim nods. "Ace Ventura, at your service. And _then_ I had to stay at the station because the chief finally caught up with me and the _mountain_ of paperwork I've been avoiding. So that's why I'm home at goddamn midnight." Jim lightly squeezes Oswald's hand. "So how was _your_ day?"

"Oh, not nearly as exciting as yours, I'm sure," Oswald says airily, gesturing vaguely with his other hand. "Honestly, getting my men to do anything with any sort of artistry is like herding cats. I asked two of them to go procure some extra liquor for tonight because our stock is running low and what did they bring back?" He sighs deeply and braces himself before speaking. "Four cases of _Pabst Blue Ribbon_."

Jim laughs so hard that Oswald is afraid he's going to rupture something. "Jesus Christ," Jim wheezes. 

"I resolved to be more specific in the future," he sighs. "Just about anything would have been better. Bathtub moonshine would have been better. Hell, pond water would have been better."

"So how--how _was_ business tonight?" Jim asks when he can finally breathe. "Did anyone get into the PBR?"

"Business was booming, actually! We sat two hundred people during the dinner rush," Oswald says, puffing up proudly. "And no. I went out personally and bought enough wine and brandy to last the night. Like hell I'm serving such swill in my club, honestly, I'd never hear the end of it."

Jim pets Oswald's thumb with his own. "Well, sounds like we both had exciting evenings."

"Mhm. By the way, what _was_ that red stain on your collar? Is there anyone I need to have slain in your defense?" Oswald asks casually.

"Slain in my--" Jim chortles again, rolling his eyes. "You know I'm not a _damsel in distress,_ right? If anyone's the damsel here it's _you,_ let's be really clear on th--"

"Shush, you. Answer my question."

"No slaying required, all right? It was _jelly_. From the PB and J sandwich Harvey brought me."

Oswald makes a disapproving noise. "He _should_ be slain just for bringing you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My lover deserves at _least_ tunafish," he sniffs. "I'll have his head the next time he attempts such an injustice against me. Peanut butter and jelly, _indeed_."

"It was raspberry jelly, in his defense," Jim says, propping himself up on an elbow to look in Oswald's eyes a little easier. "I like raspberry. He can keep bringing me PB and J sandwiches if he wants."

"Go to sleep, you don't even know what you're saying," Oswald playfully chastises, and Jim leans in and kisses him quickly before flopping down on the sheets and cuddling close against Oswald, burying his face at Oswald's neck and shoving a leg between Oswald's to slot himself closer. He disentangles his hand from Oswald's just so that he can wrap his arm around Oswald's waist. He's an aggressive cuddler, which is all-too-advantageous for Oswald, who saps Jim's body heat like a leech. _A cute leech, though,_ Jim had once told him. _So it's okay._ Oswald stays warm like this--with his flannel pajamas on, under the covers, and with Jim plastered against him like it's his job.

It's Oswald's favorite place to be.

He reaches up and turns out the light sitting on his side table. "Goodnight, Jim. Sleep well." Jim mumbles something in reply, unintelligible due to it being muffled against Oswald's skin, but Oswald would bet money on it being _night night. Love you._ So, naturally, he replies "I love you too," and that's that.

Jim doesn't say anything else, but the arm around Oswald's waist tugs him ever-closer, and that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jonothan Coulton's song "Glasses."
> 
>  
> 
> _The house shifts into place, a little breathing space  
>  The radiators and the floorboards will argue while we sleep  
> There's water in the walls, the stairs make waterfalls  
> Down in the basement the soft sound of a river digging deep_
> 
> _So much to say, I forget to start  
>  There goes a day, fading as it passes  
> Forget the grey, let it fall apart  
> It's okay, I like you in glasses_


End file.
